ladies’ poodles for gout. I’d like to work out in
the country. Over in DuBarry, maybe, or down south in Broward. Cattle country.
That would make me content, I think. So I’m saving up for veterinary college.”
She grins, fine squint lines deepening at the corners of her eyes. “Someday
they’ll be saying stuff like, “Reckon we better call ol’ Doc Marley.”
He’s shamed, because this
is all new information; he’s known her for three years and never before asked
about her life. He recalls her singing about the house and being struck by her
strong, sweet voice, how she bent notes that started out flat into a strange
countrified inflection. He doesn’t know what to say.
“You look perplexed,” she
says. “You thought I was just an aging beach bunny, is that it?”
“That’s not it.”
“I suppose I am,
technically, an aging beach bunny. But I’m making a graceful transition.”
A silence, during which he
hears cars pass. The beach is extraordinarily quiet, all the spring breakers
sleeping in, waiting out the rain. He remembers a morning like this when he was
eleven, he and some friends rode their bikes down past the strip of motels
between Silver Beach and Main, hoping to see girls gone wild, and seeing
instead spent condoms floating in the swimming pools like dead marine
creatures, a lone girl crying on the sidewalk, crushed beer cans, the beach
littered with party trash and burst jellyfish and crusts of dirty foam, all the
residue of joyful debauch. It never changes. The gray light lends the
furnishings, the walls, a frail density and a pointillist aspect—it seems
the room is turning into the ghost of itself, becoming a worn, faded engraving.
“Why do you always act
scared around me, Cliffie?” Marley asks. “Even when we were together, you acted
scared. I know the age thing bothers you, but that’s no reason to be scared.”
“It’s complicated,” he
says.
“And you don’t want to talk
about it, right? Guys really suck!”
“No, I’ll talk about it if
you want.”
She looks at him
expectantly, face partly concealed by dirty blond strings of hair.
“It’s partly the age
thing,” he says. “I’m fifty-four and you’re twenty-nine.”
“Close,” she says.
“Thirty.”
“All right. Thirty. Turning
a year on the calendar doesn’t change the fact it’s a significant difference.
But mostly it’s this…blankness I feel inside myself. It’s like I’m empty, and
growing emptier. That’s what I’m scared of.”
“Well, I don’t pretend to
know much,” Marley says. “I could be wrong, but sounds to me like you’re
lonely.”
Could it be that simple?
He’s tempted to accept her explanation, but he’s reluctant to accept what that
may bring. Rain begins to fall more heavily, screening them away from the world
with gray slanting lines.
“What do you see in me?” he
asks. “I mean, what makes someone like you interested in a fifty-something used
car salesman with a bad back. I don’t get it.”
“Wow. Once you start them
up, some guys are worse than women. Out comes the rotten self-image and
everything else.” She glances up to the ceiling, as if gathering information
written there. “I’ll tell you, but don’t interrupt, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’re friends. We’ve been
friends for going on four years, and I like to think we’re good friends. I can
count on you in an emergency, and you can count on me. True?”
He nods.
“You make my head quiet,”
she says. “Not last night, not when I’m in party mode. But most of the time,
that’s how I feel around you. You steady me. You treat me as an equal. With
guys my age or close, I can tell what’s foremost on their mind, and it’s always
a battle to win their respect. Like with Tucker. That may explain why I’ve got
this thing for older men. They don’t just see tits and a pussy, they see all of
me. I’m speaking generally, of course. I get lots of horny old goats hitting on
me, but they’re
the country. Over in DuBarry, maybe, or down south in Broward. Cattle country.
That would make me content, I think. So I’m saving up for veterinary college.”
She grins, fine squint lines deepening at the corners of her eyes. “Someday
they’ll be saying stuff like, “Reckon we better call ol’ Doc Marley.”
He’s shamed, because this
is all new information; he’s known her for three years and never before asked
about her life. He recalls her singing about the house and being struck by her
strong, sweet voice, how she bent notes that started out flat into a strange
countrified inflection. He doesn’t know what to say.
“You look perplexed,” she
says. “You thought I was just an aging beach bunny, is that it?”
“That’s not it.”
“I suppose I am,
technically, an aging beach bunny. But I’m making a graceful transition.”
A silence, during which he
hears cars pass. The beach is extraordinarily quiet, all the spring breakers
sleeping in, waiting out the rain. He remembers a morning like this when he was
eleven, he and some friends rode their bikes down past the strip of motels
between Silver Beach and Main, hoping to see girls gone wild, and seeing
instead spent condoms floating in the swimming pools like dead marine
creatures, a lone girl crying on the sidewalk, crushed beer cans, the beach
littered with party trash and burst jellyfish and crusts of dirty foam, all the
residue of joyful debauch. It never changes. The gray light lends the
furnishings, the walls, a frail density and a pointillist aspect—it seems
the room is turning into the ghost of itself, becoming a worn, faded engraving.
“Why do you always act
scared around me, Cliffie?” Marley asks. “Even when we were together, you acted
scared. I know the age thing bothers you, but that’s no reason to be scared.”
“It’s complicated,” he
says.
“And you don’t want to talk
about it, right? Guys really suck!”
“No, I’ll talk about it if
you want.”
She looks at him
expectantly, face partly concealed by dirty blond strings of hair.
“It’s partly the age
thing,” he says. “I’m fifty-four and you’re twenty-nine.”
“Close,” she says.
“Thirty.”
“All right. Thirty. Turning
a year on the calendar doesn’t change the fact it’s a significant difference.
But mostly it’s this…blankness I feel inside myself. It’s like I’m empty, and
growing emptier. That’s what I’m scared of.”
“Well, I don’t pretend to
know much,” Marley says. “I could be wrong, but sounds to me like you’re
lonely.”
Could it be that simple?
He’s tempted to accept her explanation, but he’s reluctant to accept what that
may bring. Rain begins to fall more heavily, screening them away from the world
with gray slanting lines.
“What do you see in me?” he
asks. “I mean, what makes someone like you interested in a fifty-something used
car salesman with a bad back. I don’t get it.”
“Wow. Once you start them
up, some guys are worse than women. Out comes the rotten self-image and
everything else.” She glances up to the ceiling, as if gathering information
written there. “I’ll tell you, but don’t interrupt, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’re friends. We’ve been
friends for going on four years, and I like to think we’re good friends. I can
count on you in an emergency, and you can count on me. True?”
He nods.
“You make my head quiet,”
she says. “Not last night, not when I’m in party mode. But most of the time,
that’s how I feel around you. You steady me. You treat me as an equal. With
guys my age or close, I can tell what’s foremost on their mind, and it’s always
a battle to win their respect. Like with Tucker. That may explain why I’ve got
this thing for older men. They don’t just see tits and a pussy, they see all of
me. I’m speaking generally, of course. I get lots of horny old goats hitting on
me, but they’re
Similar Books
